


Nailed It

by starspangledmanwithaplan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort/Angst, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Family, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Family Member Death, Female Reader, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluffy Ending, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Language, M/M, Mild Language, Near Death Experiences, Original Character Death(s), Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 17:29:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13709238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starspangledmanwithaplan/pseuds/starspangledmanwithaplan
Summary: The boat your father left you is in dire need of some tender loving care. Only problem is, you don’t know the first thing about boats. One Craigslist ad later, enter Steve Rogers, handyman extraordinaire. The only thing you hadn’t counted on was his crystal eyes and brilliant smile.





	1. Decisions, Decisions

* * *

“Seriously, dad?” you gruffed to no one but yourself. “Thought you said she was a beaut.” The boat you had spent the majority of your childhood fishing from and cruising around the lake was anything but a beaut. She was… well… dilapidated would be putting it nicely.

You couldn’t deal with it right then. With a heavy sigh, you pulled the door closed, locked it, and made your way down the dock. The lake, while gorgeous at any time of the day, looked exquisite under the setting sun. You bent over and drug your fingers through the water, watching as it bubbled around your nails and skin, your fingertips barely breaking the surface. The water was cool, more tepid than chilled; you’d have to keep it short.

While stepping out of your sandals, you pulled off your shirt, followed quickly by your shorts, and dove into the water. The voices in your head were silenced the moment your head broke the surface. They were the ones that had always plagued you, confirming every self-doubt, working hard to convince you that you weren’t good enough for anyone, that you’d never succeed… they’d gotten a lot worse since your father died.

Swimming seemed to be the only way to silence them, to clear your mind just enough so you could look back on the past year; spending every waking - and sometimes sleeping - moment watching cancer claim your father.

Why would you want to think about that? While it was - hands down - the shittest reason to spend time with your father, this past year was revealing.

Growing up, you thought you knew everything about your parents. They were highschool sweethearts, getting married as soon as they graduated, lived in a one bedroom apartment until they saved enough money to buy a house. You came along a handful of years later, and everything - in your innocent, naive mind - was perfect.

Turned out, you didn’t know shit about your parents.

While they were highschool sweethearts, they were both knock out, drag down stubborn. Their fights were epic, explosive, passionate. The longest your mom went with not speaking to your dad was two weeks. Why? Because he had given your mom’s high school nemesis a ride home after school. To be fair, it was one of the wettest springs that decade, but that rebuttal meant nothing to your mom.

The next eye-opening conversation was when you found out that there was a year that neither of them remembered. While mom was busy snorting cocaine, dad seemed to drink his memories away. When you asked for a reason, all your dad did was shrug his shoulders and scoff.

But it wasn’t until two days before he died that your father revealed the most shocking secret; your mom had been pregnant more than once.

_You stared at him, hands shaking in your lap, throat and mouth dry. “Wh- what do you m- mean?”_

_He shifted on the bed, his frail body barely moving. “Your mom… she uh… she had a hard time stayin’ pregnant.”_

_Relief washed over you, quickly followed by guilt for feeling relieved. “How many?” you breathed, the weight of loss hanging in the air, just out of reach, ready to smother you alive._

_“Seven,” he answered, his head lolling back, eyes drifting closed._

_“Jesus,” you murmured, scraping a hand over your face. “Why didn’t you guys say anything?”_

_One of his bony shoulders bobbed up. “Your mom was a proud woman, never wanted anyone to see her suffer.”_

_“Pop,” you said raggedly, grasping his hand in yours, eyes filling with tears._

_Nothing more was said that day._

Back on the dock, you grabbed your clothes, slipped on your sandals, and jogged into the house. You hadn’t decided what you were going to do with it yet. You still needed to go through both your parents belongings and see what you wanted to keep, what could be donated, and what needed to be thrown away. But first, you needed a hot shower.

* * *

“I don’t know, Nat,” you gasped, emotion thick in your throat. “There’s just… there’s so much to do. And that’s not even including the boat.”

Nat, your life-long friend, dropped a hand to your knee. “I’ll help,” she offered, knowing exactly what you were going through and what needed to be done. “Whatever you need, you know I’m here.”

With tears spilling down your face, you looked at her and sniffled, nodding your appreciation. “First mom, now dad. It fucking sucks.”

Breast cancer was what killed your mom; stage four, inoperable, untreatable. It was a death sentence from the first moment. Your dad followed suit less than five years later; prostate cancer. You remembered being so angry at him. If he had just gotten checked sooner, when he was supposed to. But he didn’t. That goddamn stubborn streak was going to be the death of him. Literally.

Nat wrapped her arm around your shoulders and pulled you into her, tucking your head under her chin, comforting you as best as she could. “We’ll do this on your time. If you say you want the house cleaned out by next weekend, Bucky, Scott, Sam, and I will be here will fucking bells on.”

“What about the boat?” you rasped.

She pulled back and looked at you. “What do you want to do with the boat?”

“I want to keep it,” was your sniffled reply.

“Okay, that’s good. One decision made,” she smiled.

“It needs to be repaired,” you mused, eyes losing focus as you tried to swim through the thick fog in your brain. “I’ll place an ad on Craigslist, see if anyone bites.”

Natasha chuckled as she grabbed her beer. “You’re on a roll now,” she joked with a wink. “Ain’t no stopping you now.”

* * *

There were so many ‘bites’ in response to the ad, that it felt like you were a kid, fishing with your dad’s lucky bait. The majority of them were phonies, looking for sex, and the few remaining ones were legitimately capable of fixing the front porch, or finishing the unfinished basement, but they didn’t have the skillset needed to rebuild a boat.

You had just decided to delete the ad when your phone rang. Cringing, you slid your finger across the screen. “Hello,” you greeted, face pinched, ready to deal with yet another proposition.

“Yes, hello,” he stammered nervously. “I’m calling about the ad on Craigslist.”

Oh, he sounded so cute. Your mood instantly changed, and you couldn’t help but play with him. “Which ad is that?”

He chuckled low in his throat. “That would be helpful, huh?”

“Could be.” You didn’t know what was going on, but the voices in your head went quiet. Weird. “We could start the conversation over if you like.”

“Please,” he murmured.

Clearing your throat, you repeated your previous greeting.

“Hello, my name is Steve Rogers,” he started, sounding much more confident than mere moments ago. “I am calling about the ad in Craigslist, the one for rebuilding a boat.”

You tried, but failed, to hide the chuckle in your throat. “I have asked everyone else this question, so I hope you don’t mind.”

“By all means,” Steve responded politely.

“Is this a booty call?” There was a long stretch of silence where you were sure you could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

“I… what?” You could hear him waking up his laptop. “Is this… Y/N Y/L/N?”

You were laughing now, the kind where your head was thrown back and there were tears in your eyes, the kind that felt good. “Yes… I… I’m sorry about that. It’s been a long day.”

Steve blew out a sigh of relief. “I get it. Craigslist is… sketchy at best.”

“That it is,” you agreed. “But… my question is legit.”

“Well,” he started, and if you weren’t mistaken, he was running his fingers through… his hair, or his beard. “My answer is no, this is not a booty call. I’m a handyman by trade.”

“Have you ever done something as large scale as this; rebuilding a boat?” You found yourself holding your breath, wanting to hear him say yes. What was wrong with you?

“Yes,” Steve answered, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“Would you like to come over tomorrow, see the mess before you decide to take on the job?”

“Sounds great. Text me your address?”

“I think I can handle that,” was your breathy reply. After saying goodnight, the call disconnected.

You entered his contact information into your cell, then shot him a text with your address.

_Steve: How early is too early for you?_

_Y: I don’t know. What did you have in mind?_

_Steve: I like to get an early start, so 6?_

_Y: You sound like you’ve already made up your mind._

_Steve: I have. When I see something I want, I go after it._

_Y: …. Really?_

_Steve: That came off a bit… arrogant. I swear, I don’t make it a habit of shoving my foot in my mouth._

_Y: No worries, Steve. See you tomorrow._

_Steve: Goodnight, Y/N._

_Y: Goodnight._

* * *

Steve found himself looking at his phone longer than necessary after Y/N bid him goodnight. He enjoyed talking with her, how she poked fun at him, making light of his embarrassing conversation starter. She wasn’t cruel about it, she was kind and sweet, made him forget his insecurities, made him laugh. It had been a while since someone other than Peggy made him feel that way, at ease, able to forget about the tragedies that plagued him.

He plugged in his phone, slid beneath the blankets, and, for the first time in months, fell asleep quickly.


	2. Easily Amused

After ringing the doorbell, Steve stood on the porch, hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth. As he waited, he took in the house before him. It was a nice size, a bit off the beaten path, secluded. The house could use some new siding, maybe just sand down the old paint, give it a little bit of a facelift.

With a huff, Steve looked at his watch. It wasn’t even 6 yet, so he couldn’t be irritated that Y/N hadn’t answered the door yet. However, it was the third time he had pushed the white button. Curiosity getting the better of him, he tried the knob, only to find it locked. While he liked the fact she didn’t keep it unlocked, he didn’t like that there wasn’t an answer.

Somehow, Steve resisted the urge to pull out his phone and call her. Instead, he made his way around the side of the house, sucking in a breath at the site of the small cove, private beach access. Man, people would kill for property like this.

There, on the dock, were a pile of clothes. Steve called out a couple times for Y/N as he approached the dock, taking in the sight of a bright pink towel. Steve assumed that Y/N had gone for a quick swim before their meeting, so he waited.

Steve was standing there, at the edge, taking in the serene scene of nature before him, when Y/N broke the surface with a loud gasp for air. He stumbled back, hand on his chest, eyes panic-stricken wide.

“Holy shit,” he gasped.

Wrapping the fluffy towel around herself, Y/N stood there and laughed, the same laugh from last night. It was rich and thick, and shit, he could get used to hearing it.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” she stammered, hand raking through her dripping wet hair. “Are you alright?”

“Nearly gave me a heart attack,” he chastised playfully, keeping his hand against his chest, mainly because it continued to skip a beat at just the sight of her. If he was going to work for her, he needed to get a handle on whatever it was he was currently feeling.

She tilted her head to the side as she regained her composure. “But seriously, are you alright?”

It was like the air was sucked from his lungs the moment his eyes met hers. They were bright and sparkling, so full of life and joy. Even having just emerged from the lake, hair slicked back, surrounded by a plush towel, he found her stunning. Shit. This was going to be harder than he thought.

Steve cleared his throat. “I’m good, thanks. Is the boat in there?” he asked, pointing at the boatshed that fed into the lake.

Y/N’s brows furrowed together for a brief moment. “Yeah,” she answered as she picked up her clothes and slipped into her sandals. She brushed past Steve to take the lead, showing him where the key was hidden should she not be there to open it.

She turned on the lights and Steve took a step back. “Whoa… that’s -”

“A piece of shit? Yeah, I know,” Y/N mused, turning away from him for a moment, raising a hand to her face. He was about to ask if she was okay, if she needed a minute, but she sniffled, and faced him.

“The job is yours if you want it.” Her eyes were red, and it wasn’t from swimming in the lake. Whatever had happened to the boat, it held a great deal of sentimental value to her.

“It’s not going to be done in a week,” he warned her gently.

Y/N was nodding as soon as he had opened his mouth. “I know, but can you do it?”

Honestly, he didn’t know the answer to that question. What he did know was that if it made her happy, he would do anything she asked.

“I can.”

* * *

There was a change in Steve that he didn’t work at hiding very well, and it was the moment you stepped out of the water. Last night, on the phone, he had seemed… at ease, awkward, fun, but then your eyes met, and you literally watched his demeanor change.

Not that you were the only one affected by the way someone looked. You weren’t sure what you had expected when it came to Steve Rogers, but the man that had been standing before you wasn’t it. He was tall, had thick hair that made your fingers itch, a beard you wanted to scrape your nails through and feel on your sensitive skin, sparkling blue eyes that made your stomach flip lazily… yeah, this could be a problem.

While you showered, got dressed, and made some coffee, Steve got to work. The first task was to go through what tools were in the boatshed, what tools Steve had, and what would be needed for the borderline overwhelming project. Steve texted you a list of things he would need, which you then called into the hardware shop in town; they would deliver everything in a couple of hours.

Rather than text Steve, who was still in the boatshed, you wandered out, cups of coffee in hand. You found him standing there, hand running back and forth over the aged and rotted wood, head tilted, confusion on his brow.

“Probably should have warned you how bad’a shape she’s in,” you said, effectively scaring Steve for the second time today.

Steve whirled around with a grunt. “You have  _got_  to stop doing that.”

Laughter bubbled in your throat, coming out through your nose in a not-so-attractive snort. “Do I need to start wearing a bell?”

Chuckling, Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “You sure are easily amused,” he noted softly.

“Yeah, well,” you started, working hard to keep your emotions under control. “When your life has literally been turned upside down, you tend to find humor in the smallest things.”

“That is one way of dealing with things,” Steve mumbled, eyes settling on your hands.

Snapping out of whatever little daydream you had stumbled into, you cleared your throat. “Oh, yes, coffee? I wasn’t sure how you took it.”

“Thank you,” he smiled, eyes flitting over your face, quickly dropping as soon as they met yours.

You watched as he took a drink, waiting until he gave an appreciate nod of his head. “Supplies should be here in a little over an hour.”

“Good,” he murmured. “I uh… I have some stuff to do later. You alright if I start tomorrow?”

“That’s no problem, Steve,” you replied, hoping he didn’t catch the disappointment in your voice. You had no reason to be disappointed. None whatsoever. Good luck getting your brain to understand that. He must have noticed the way your eyes lost focus or how the cup started to slip from your hand, because he cleared his throat and tipped his head to the side.

“Y/N,” he addressed you gently, as if he were afraid of scaring you. “You alright?”

With a thick swallow, you nodded, and lied through your teeth. “Of course I am. I don’t mean to keep you, sorry.”

“No need for that,” he chuckled before finishing the coffee. “There a certain time you want me to start?”

You grabbed the cup he held out. “That’s entirely up to you.”

“Bright and early it is,” Steve said, following you out of the boatshed.

“I’ll try not to scare you again,” you laughed.

“I’d appreciate that.”

Steve climbed into his truck and waved out the window as he drove off, smiling wide when you waved back awkwardly as you tried not to drop the ceramic cups. When his brown and white truck disappeared around the curve, you groaned and rolled your eyes You were extremely irritated with yourself. You shouldn’t be having these… feelings about someone that was in your employment. It was nowhere near professional. Speaking of which, there hadn’t been any discussion of wages.

“What is  _wrong_  with you?” you chastised yourself loudly, storming into your house.


	3. Reluctant

Steve had been working in the boatshed, just shy of completely closed off from Y/N, for almost ten days; sketching, measuring, sorting… doing anything he could to keep busy, to keep from thinking about  _her_ , but it was proving to be difficult. Especially when he would show up just as she was pulling herself out of the lake. She would smile wide and wave before wrapping the plush towel around herself. He had never wanted to be a towel so goddamn much in his entire life. Grinding his teeth so hard his jaw was sore for two days, he stormed into the boatshed.

He had been so immersed in his work that first day, he jumped when she came in, announcing her presence with a loud knock on the almost closed door. With a smile, she held out a plate of food, nothing special; cold cut sandwich, chips, and a pickle. With a tight smile, he nodded his appreciation, and placed the plate at the far end of the table as he turned his attention back to drawings.

Telling him that she understood how much work he was doing, she would let him get back to it, and smiled before leaving him. Steve didn’t want her to leave, not even a little bit, but he had to concentrate on the task at hand. He couldn’t afford to fall for someone right then, let alone the woman that was paying him to do a job, a job that he was hoping he could finish before the end of summer.

Y/N returned every day at the same time, a plate full of food, wearing a soft smile, her bubbling laugh ringing in his ears when he jumped. It was becoming increasingly harder to to not give in and grab her waist, pull her close, and kiss her, kiss her until she didn’t remember her own name. He didn’t do any of that, though. He did what he had done the days before; nodding as he grabbed the plate, set it on the table, and forced his eyes to stay on the drawing, or the planks of wood he was measuring.

By the third week, he was starting to get on his own damn nerves. And judging by the fact that it was almost one in the afternoon and Y/N had yet to bring down a plate of food, she was irritated, too. He tried pushing down the guilt that had started chewing at him, but it wasn’t working very well. He needed to talk to her.

Standing tall, Steve pushed his hands into the air and stretched out the sore muscles in his back. He pulled open the door and headed out, strolling over to the house.

* * *

“I’m telling you, Nat,” you groaned, rolling your eyes. “He doesn’t like me.”

The petite redhead had her nose buried in one of the folders she had extracted from your father’s desk drawer. “You said it yourself, he’s busy,” she tried reassuring you. “It’s quite the task, rebuilding that boat. I’m sure he just wants to focus on getting it done, and getting it done right.”

“Maybe,” you mused. “Just doesn’t feel like it.”

Turning, she tilted her head. “How so?”

With a sigh, you stopped sorting through the pictures your mother had taken while she was dying. “He doesn’t smile or wave. I bring him lunch every day, but he pushes it to the side and goes back to his work… doesn’t even say thank you. I’ll text, ask if there’s anything else he needs; tools or more supplies. His answer is always, ‘no, it’s under control.’” You stop to pull in a deep breath, hating the way your throat had tightened up. “He wasn’t like this before.”

“I thought you didn’t know him?”

“I didn’t,” you answered, shaking your head. “But I did talk to him on the phone the night before… and a couple of texts. He seemed so much… lighter then, has a great laugh.” You couldn’t help but smile at the memory, relishing in the way it had made you feel.

It was the way your close friend huffed that made you look at her. “You’re falling for him,” Nat announced knowingly.

You scoffed and turned your attention back to the pictures in your hands. “Am not.”

“Are so,” she pushed, a teasing lilt to her voice.

You were about to snap back, something about her being a married woman for so long, she didn’t know what she was talking about, but there was a knock on the back door. Nat looked at you quizzically, but you shrugged your shoulders and went to see who it was.

Steve smiled shyly after you opened the door, and it about took your breath away. “You got a minute?”

“I guess,” was your genuinely annoyed answer.

He waited until you stepped out and closed the door. “I want to apologize.”

You managed to hide your surprise. “For what?”

It had become quite clear that Steve wanted nothing to do with you, and you hated to admit how much that hurt. You were still confused as to why it would hurt since, despite what your best friend was saying, you were definitely not falling for Steve Rogers.

“For how I’ve been acting.” Steve was running a hand through his hair and shuffling his feet in a very cute, child-stuck-in-a-man’s-body sort of way.

One of your shoulders bobbed up. “Just thought you wanted to focus on the job,” you lied. “Even now… you’re reluctant to look at me.” You slapped a hand over your mouth because you could have sworn on a stack of Bibles you had said that in your head.

Steve’s eyes flew up and he choked on a chuckle. “If I seem reluctant, it’s because whenever I look at you I want to forget about my responsibilities,” he breathed, taking a step toward you.

There was a knot in your throat that made it difficult to swallow. “Oh,” you rasped, mouth dry, heart jumping wildly in your chest. “Any… anything else?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his eyes darkening as they scanned your face. “Go out to dinner with me.”

Even though Steve wasn’t even touching you, it was as if you could  _feel_  him, pressing against you, overwhelming your senses, until Steve was all you were looking at, breathing in, touching, exploring… you drew in a bone-shuddering breath.

“That… that wasn’t a que- question,” you stammered. Your knees were shaking, and if you hadn’t taken a step back so the wall was against you, you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you would have fallen on your ass.

There was a flash of confidence, of unbridled want and swagger in Steve’s eyes that made heat pool low in your gut. He took one step, then another as he placed his hand next to your head.

He dipped his head until his nose brushed along yours, murmuring, “Say yes.” Steve’s fingers were ghosting up and down your neck, along your jaw, twisting your hair around, and running the ends through his fingers.

The air between you was thick with unspent electricity, sparking like a live wire, desperate for contact, for the need to send its white hot charge pulsing through something, someone. With the breath tearing in and out of you, you reached up and scraped your nails through his ginger beard, answering as he requested.

Steve’s mouth was on yours, the kiss needy and bruising. Pushing up to your toes, you arched into him, your hands buried in his thick hair, twisted in his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. With one arm around your waist, he held you tight enough that you could hear your ribs creak, and yet, it wasn’t close enough. In that moment, you wanted to be completely encompassed by him, feel every inch,  _see_  every inch, taste every inch.

He pulled away sooner than you liked, but your lungs were screaming for air. “I should… get back,” he panted, his chest heaving against yours.

“Yeah, me, too.” While you weren’t lying, you didn’t move to disentangle yourself.

Chuckling, Steve released the grip he had on you. “Saturday night?”

“Saturday night,” you agreed.


	4. Whiskey Chaser

You stumbled into the house, drunk from Steve’s kiss, giggling, and undoubtedly blushing. Natasha cleared her throat, effectively gaining your attention.

“So… he doesn’t like you, huh?” she managed to ask before laughing.

“Hates me,” you sputtered, joining her in laughter. “He hates me so much, he asked me out.”

There were unshed tears in her eyes as she continued to tease you. “And you turned him down, of course, because he hates you.”

With a happy sigh, you gnawed on your bottom lip. “Loathes,” you murmured, raising a hand to your kiss-swollen lips.

“Okay, you have to tell me everything,” she giggled, dashing over, grabbing your hand, and tugging you over to the couch.

After dropping next to your friend, you happily obliged. The butterflies, the sweaty palms and wobbly knees, the wistful sighs and contagious giggles; it was like being in high school all over again.

* * *

Over the next couple of days, the only reason Steve kept Y/N at a distance was so the he could actually get some work done. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t stop thinking about her, about how she had felt pressed against him, curving her body to his. Or how her nails felt on his skin, biting into it one second, only to ghost over another section the next. Or how she tasted and sounded; the bite of lemonade on her tongue and lips, the sharp gasps in the back of her throat in response to his eagerness. God, he wanted her bad.

She did bring him lunch those days, but rather than set the food aside and focus on his job, Steve would grab her waist as she set the food aside, and then he would kiss her breathless. It always ended with wandering hands and half-ass excuses about needed to get back to work. She would disappear, blushing and giggling, leaving him with plenty of time to cool down.

When he was done for the day, Steve would have loved to stay late; cook her dinner, maybe go for a late-night swim, but there were other responsibilities he needed to take care of. However, he would knock on the door and kiss her goodnight before he went home, he wasn’t a complete fool.

* * *

You were a nervous wreck by the time Saturday rolled around. It wasn’t like you’d never been on a date before, but it had been almost two years, and then Steve fell into your lap. He was ruggedly sexy and insanely sweet. You liked him, a lot, and he appeared to like you in return. There was a part of you that was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Things had a tendency to go swimmingly, and then, just as you were getting comfortable, reality would come along and bitch slap you.

For instance.

Your kick ass high school grades had earned you a scholarship to the college of your choice. Two months in, you got mono. You might have lost the ‘freshmen fifteen’ remarkably fast, but your ongoing perfect GPA went with it. No matter how hard you tried to keep up, you didn’t make it past the first semester.

After swallowing your pride and moving back home, you decided to make a go of it, and start an Etsy account; making customized jewelry. Four months later, you realized you were spending more money on the supplies than you were recouping.

The next adventure involved your mother. You had always been envious of her knitting and sewing, loving everything she created, even the lace doilies that covered every shelf in the house. But no matter how hard you practiced, how long you studied her movements, how many trade secrets she told you, you still couldn’t knit a scarf, let alone create and cut a pattern.

Your father thought maybe you could help him paint the house one summer, but you ended up knocking over an expensive can of all-weather paint all over the back deck. Rather than get upset and yell, your father quickly helped you off the ladder, grabbed a brush, and started painting the aged wood.

 _“It’s always needed a splash of color,” he laughed, eyes sparkling as he winked._  Swallowing the threat of tears, you grabbed a brush and helped spread the paint before it could dry. You loved how your father could turn almost any bad scenario upside down.

With a heaving sigh, you finished your coffee and headed upstairs to get ready. By the time you were showered and dressed, you had grown too antsy to stay at home, so you decided to leave early.

* * *

You parked the car, got out, and went for a short walk. Despite having lived in this town most of your life, including being a caregiver for your dying parents, it had been a while since you had been in that part of town. The sidewalk was lined with small shops; souvenirs for travellers and sightseers, locally grown vegetables and fruits, locally harvested honey… anything and everything one could think of while visiting the small town.

Wearing a simple sundress that fell to the top of your knees, a light jacket, and a pair of Tom’s, you strolled down the sidewalk to the small cafe. Once inside, you were shown to a booth in the corner. You ordered a beer and glanced over the menu while you waited for Steve.

“Would you like to order an appetizer?” the server asked minutes later, her pen poised over her small notebook.

Shaking your head, you smiled. “No, thanks,” you glanced at her name tag, “Kimmy.” She returned your smile, tucked the pad and pen into her apron, and sauntered into the kitchen.

Rather than watch out the windows, you tugged your phone out, and got lost in several games of Words With Friends. Your current opponents were Natasha, her husband, Bucky, and a high school buddy that had found you on Facebook; Clint. While you were thoroughly kicking Bucky and Clint’s collective asses, Nat was raking you over the coals.

“75 points for one word,” you scoffed under your breath. “Ridiculous.”

Whenever you would go to check the time, tuck your phone away, make sure your face wasn’t buried in a phone when Steve arrived, Nat would play another word. You wanted to beat her, just once, so the fact that Steve hadn’t shown up yet, wasn’t worrying you.

Two full games later, you had finally beaten your friend. In celebration, you sent her a text, bragging about how you had finally done it.

> _Nat: Hey, aren’t you supposed to be on a date?_
> 
> _Y: Oh shit! What time is it?_
> 
> _Nat: You tell me, you’ve got a phone in your hands._

Your eyes landed on the time in the top right corner. 7:45 was your answer, and your heart stopped. Where was Steve? Did something happen?

You clicked your way into the text message inbox, but there was nothing from Steve. The next thing you checked was the call log: no missed calls or voicemails. You called him, no answer. You called him again, working hard to ignore the way your gut was twisting. Again, no answer.

“Hey, it’s me,” you said, hoping you sounded calm and collected, not panicked. “Just checkin’ to see if everything is okay. I’ll hang out for a little longer.”

Something wasn’t right, you could feel it in your bones. Whether it was with Steve or someone else, you didn’t know. You sat there, staring at your phone, both legs bouncing, gnawing on your bottom lip for fifteen agonizingly slow minutes. Just when you were going to shove it in your pocket and walk out, you got a text message.

> _Steve: Sorry, there’s an emergency. I can’t make it._

You stared at the message, worrying the inside of your cheek between your molars until tears filled your eyes. Kimmy showed up at that moment, asking if you wanted a refill.

Swallowing the knot in your throat, you said, “Please, and a whiskey chaser.”


	5. Passive Aggressive

You hadn’t heard from Steve since Saturday, the night he text you almost an hour after he should have been there, citing there was an emergency. No, that was a lie. He had called a handful of times, left as many voicemails, asking for you to call him back, apologizing profusely for what had happened. Then there were the texts, dozens of them, repeating his voicemails, pleading with you to answer him. Rolling your eyes, you had turned off your phone, drank a bottle of wine, and, thanks to Netflix, binge watched yourself into a stupor. You were the self-declared queen of passive aggressive, after all.

It was Tuesday when Steve’s brown and white truck rolled to a stop, wet gravel crunching under the tires. He came up the back steps and knocked on the door. When you didn’t answer, he tried again, banging the side of his fist into the door, rattling it in the frame.

“Come on, Y/N,” he bellowed. “I know you’re home.”

With a heavy sigh, you came down the stairs and into his line of sight through the window just as he was about to knock again. The handle twisted jerkily as he tried opening the door.

“What do you want?” you asked, raising your voice so he could hear you.

“Open the door,” Steve implored, guilt swimming in his eyes.

Shaking your head, you said, “Not happening. Goodbye, Steve.” You turned on your heel, but before you could start up the stairs, he banged on the door again.

“Please,” he begged, twisting the knob harder. If he wasn’t careful, he’d break the door. “I just… I’m sorry, Y/N. There was an emergency, and I…,” he growled deep in his chest as his head dropped forward. “I had no other choice.”

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes as you turned back around. “There’s always a choice, Steve,” you snapped, hands in fists at your sides. “You could have called. Instead, you sent me a clipped text with no explanation?”

“I know,” Steve admitted. “I’ll explain everything, just… please, don’t make me do this through a closed door.”

You stood there for several long moments before making up your mind. You crossed the room and unlocked the door, standing back and watching as he wiped his feet on the mat before entering.

He ran his hands through his hair and stared at the ground before doing as promised. “I was just about to leave when I got a call.”

“The emergency,” you murmured, wondering why he wasn’t looking at you.

Steve huffed through his nose. “Yeah. It was a friend, saying that… that Grace was really sick, that I needed to get over there pronto.”

“Grace?” you asked. Your previous confusion gave way to anxiety. Was Steve married? “Who… who is Grace?”

He blew out one breath, then another as he continued to avoid your gaze. You repeated your question, louder than before, an edge to your voice that made the hairs on your arm stand.

“If you’re not going to explain, then you need to leave.”

Swallowing thickly, he looked at you, his eyes unreadable. “Grace is my daughter.”

You were hearing things, that had to be it. Chuckling uneasily, you ran a hand through your hair. “I’m sorry, say that again,” you requested shakily.

“My daughter,” he repeated, firmer this time.

“How… I don’t… not  _how_ , but… what?” you sputtered, your brain sluggish and slow to understand what he was saying.

After signaling at the couch, the pair of you drifted over, dropped down, and Steve told you everything, something he swore he wished he, “Would have done from the beginning.”

He and Peggy were childhood friends, all the way through high school, until one drunken night, they admitted that they were each harboring feelings for the other. It was a whirlwind romance after that; engaged six months later, married three months after that, and pregnant not long after. The pregnancy was fairly easy for Peggy; little to no morning sickness, she managed to make her friends jealous with how trim she managed to stay, worked right up until the first sign of labor. But that was where the happy story ended.

“Gracie… she uh, she got stuck,” Steve choked out. His forearms were on his thighs, shaking hands between his knees, and his head hung down. “It was scary, watching them cut Peggy open then and there, but they had to move fast since an operating room wasn’t an option. There just wasn’t enough time to save them both.”

You rested a hand on his forearm and squeezed, silently telling him that you were there for him, that you weren’t going anywhere, no matter how long it took for him to finish.

Steve sniffled after a long stretch of silence. “While they were… ex… extracting my daughter, something shifted and one of Peggy’s arteries got blocked, cutting off the blood flow to her brain, and she, uh… she suffered an ischemic stroke. They uh, they tried reviving her, wanted to put her on life support, but there wasn’t any brain activity.”

“Jesus,” you murmured, throat thick, tears in your eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

He scraped a hand over his face, wiping away the tears that streaked into his beard. “I didn’t say anything about Grace because the last woman I dated… God, Gracie loved her so much. It destroyed her when Maria left.”

“Why would she leave?” you implored.

“Got some big job promotion,” he answered with a shrug. “Opportunity of a lifetime or something.”

You slid off the couch and maneuvered your way between his legs. Cradling his face in your hands, you pressed a kiss to his forehead, sighing into it at the weight of his hands on your back, tugging you closer until you had him completely wrapped in your arms. He held onto you as if you were his saving grace, the one that would rescue him, the one that would make everything better. Your hands were in his hair and caressing his back, shoulders, and neck.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you murmured, screwing your eyes shut as your shirt absorbed his tears.

He nodded, his chin pushing into your shoulder. “Would you like to meet her?”

“Yeah, I would love to,” you answer, pulling back to look at him. “But only if you’re ready.”

A lopsided smirk tugs at Steve’s lips. “I’m ready.”

* * *

Grace came running around the house as Steve pulled into the drive, cutting the engine a moment later. She barely waited for her father to exit the truck before she launched herself at him, smiling wide.

“I told you,” Steve groaned, working his fingers up and down her sides, sending her into a giggling fit. “You’re gettin’ too big.”

She wriggled out of his grip and landed on her feet. “But you still catch me.”

Chuckling, Steve reached out and messed up her hair. “You really think I’m gonna let anything bad happen to you?”

Y/N came around the front of the truck, smiling, eyes flicking between father and daughter. Steve wrapped his arm around her shoulders as she stood next to him.

“Grace, I’d like you to meet Y/N,” Steve said warmly.

There was a small moment where Steve thought Grace might turn around and walk away, and he wouldn’t blame her if she did. Having been in their lives for almost two years, Maria was the closest thing to a mother that Grace had ever known. One day she was there, the next she was gone.

Grace smiled lopsidedly and held out her dirty hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“You, as well,” Y/N responded, shaking the much smaller hand, smearing dirt all over her hand.

“Would you like to see what I’m building?” Bright blue eyes darted between Steve and Y/N as she rocked back and forth excitedly.

Steve went to answer, but Y/N beat him to it. “I would absolutely love to.”


	6. Tangled Sheets

You and Grace quickly became like two peas in a pod, and now that school was out, Steve - with your approval - brought Grace with him most days. While he worked on the boat, you, Nat, and Grace would spend hours in the lake and sunbathing, or Grace would help while Nat continued to help you go through your parent’s belongings. Her addition made you welcome the arrival of the next day, made you smile brighter, helped lift you out of the understandable depression you had sunk into after losing your remaining parent. Even Nat had taken notice of the change in you.

“Looks good on you,” she murmured while sorting through your mother’s clothes.

With your brow furrowed, you looked down at the dusty clothes you were wearing. “What?”

Nat smiled and nodded toward Grace, who was playing with your mother’s costume jewelry. “Motherhood.”

“I’m not… that’s not… no,” you sputtered, managing to keep your voice a whisper.

“I know,” your friend assured you. “That’s not the role you’re trying to take right now. I just can’t help but notice how much… happier you are with her around.”

You couldn’t help but smile, humming softly. “I feel happier,” was your confirmation. “Who would have thought that by the start of summer, I’d be well on my way to… falling in love with a man that has a fabulous daughter.”

Nat’s eyes went wide with excitement. “Falling in love, you say?”

“Yeah,” you breathed. You were about to delve into it, tell her about the sense of comfort you had been feeling, the warmth that started in your chest and spread further every day, but Grace said your name.

“How do I look?” she asked, fingers covered with rings, bangles on her wrists, clip on earrings adorning her lobes.

You strolled over and dug in your mom’s old jewelry case, quickly finding a green and blue dragonfly hair pin. After affixing it to her hair, you stood back and nodded approvingly. “Absolutely perfect.”

* * *

“You’re sure?” Steve asked Nat for the fifth time.

“Trust me,” Y/N’s friend assured him with a smile.

Grace sidled up to the spunky redhead. “Yeah, dad,” she sassed playfully. “We got this.”

“See? We got this,” Nat confirmed, shooting you a wink. “Now, the two of you need to go on that date. And you,” she said, pointing a finger at him. “Take care of my girl.”

He held his hands up in faux defense. “I swear I will.”

* * *

The two of you ate and had drinks at the small diner. Not inside though. It was a gorgeous evening and, thankfully, the diner wasn’t busy. You were seated on the deck out back, giving the two of you an interrupted view of the large lake. With the setting sun, it looked as if it were a painter’s palette, various colors swirled about, mixing together, making a whole new color that would soon be taken over by the obsidian night sky.

During dinner, Steve held your hand as much as he could. The only times he didn’t were when the food had arrived and was taken away. Otherwise, he would tangle his fingers with yours, his thumb brushing back and forth, along the side of your index finger, over the pulse point in your wrist. By the time the check came, you were itching to get home.

In the truck, you slid next to Steve, relishing in the comforting weight of his arm over your shoulders, the way his fingers danced along your arm, driving goosebumps to the surface. You rested your head on his shoulder, sighing happily after breathing him in. He might have been a hell of a handyman, sporting dirt under his nails, pushed deep into his cuticles, but he wasn’t  _dirty_. He smelled nice and comforting, like sawdust, oil, and fresh cut grass after the rain.

“Wanna go for a swim?” you asked as soon as Steve turned off the ignition.

He chuckled deep in his chest. “Isn’t it a bit cold for that?”

“Nah,” you answered before catching his lips in a kiss. “Shouldn’t be too bad.”

With a wink, you all but jumped out of the truck and started running across the yard, stripping out of your clothes on the way. You heard him behind you, laughing thick and rich, gaining ground thanks to his long legs. He was still thundering along the dock when you dove into the water. You were still under the surface when he cannonball jumped, the impact of his much larger frame sending high ripples cascading along the water.

You pushed up, gasping for air once you broke the surface, wondering where he was as you treaded water, spinning in a circle. You didn’t have to wait long. A large hand was around your ankle, pulling you under just as you filled your lungs with air.

The two of you came up for air and immediately started splashing each other. It wasn’t a fair fight, really. Steve’s hands were much larger than yours, and he used them to send waves at you, laughing as they splashed against you, rocked you back, filled your mouth with water.

“Wait, wait,” you said, pretending that something had gotten in your eyes.

Steve immediately swam over. “Are you okay?”

He sounded so genuinely concerned that you  _almost_  felt bad for grabbing his shoulders and using every ounce of strength you had to push him under. Of course, he was quick to recover, latching onto you, arms around your waist, holding you firm to his chest. Once his feet reached the sandy bottom, he pushed back up, quickly sending the two of you to the surface.

His arms were still around your waist, unrelenting, unwilling to let you go just yet. “Thought you could get me, huh?” he panted, water running in rivulets down his face and neck.

“Well, technically I did,” you answered coquettishly. With one arm around his shoulders, you used your free hand to wipe the water from his forehead and pushed his sodden hair back. “All part of my plan.”

Steve shivered against you as he trapped his bottom lip between his teeth. The man may have been wearing boxer briefs and the water was definitely chilled, but the unmistakable line of his arousal was pressed between your bodies.

“Let’s go inside,” you offered, teeth chattering, unbridled want pulsing through your veins. His answer was a nod of his head as he released you.

The two of you held hands as you walked out of the water, across the lawn, and up to the house. Since you had left your clothes on the grass, you quickly found the hidden key. Your hand was shaking so bad, you couldn’t get the key in the lock. Steve’s hand on yours was a comforting weight as he helped, his chest pressed to your back, fingers ghosting along your arm.

Once inside, you dropped the key onto the counter. Steve turned you around slowly, looking down at you with dark eyes, lust flashing in the diminishing azure irises. With his hands digging into your hips, you pushed up to your toes and kissed him hungrily. Before Steve grabbed your thighs and lifted you off the floor, he used his heel to kick the door closed.


	7. Rock Bottom

There was this strange ticking sound pushing its way through the fog that had enveloped your brain, that had pulled you deep into unconsciousness. All it took for your eyes to fly open was for your fingers to twitch; first your thumb, then your index. Pain exploded through you, its white-hot tendrils making you gasp and groan, but it was nothing compared to the agony of moving your limbs.

“What… what’s happening?” you croaked, voice raspy from the smoke billowing through the car vents. “Holy shit!”

You turned your head, only to have it feel as if someone shoved a fire poker into your temple. It stole your vision for several long minutes, forcing you to use your hands to assess the situation. From what you could feel, you were in one piece, despite how much pain you were in. That could be one of two things; adrenaline masking the reality of the situation, or you really were alright.

Just as you were trying to remember what happened, your vision started to come back. It was a slow process, but you counted down the passing seconds, using the time to keep the anxiety at bay. You weren’t prepared for what you saw.

“Grace,” you shrieked, panic bursting through the dam you had feebly built. When she didn’t answer, your arm shot out, but your fingertips barely brushed her shoulder. Whimpering, you continued to reach out, wishing that your arm was an inch longer.

Grunting in frustration, you fumbled with your seat belt, but it wouldn’t unbuckle. Not because anything had happened to the buckle itself, but because your entire body weight was pushing against it. See, not only had the two of you been in a car accident, the car was resting on the passenger side.

Grace’s blonde hair was surrounding her like a halo, shattered glass glittering like diamonds, woven intricately through the blood-tainted strands.

It was difficult to focus on Grace, to search for the vein in her neck that pulsed with every beat of her heart. You about passed out when you spotted it. Knowing she was alive gave you hope. Hope that you could dig out your cell phone from your back pocket. Hope that your phone had enough bars to make a call.

“911, what is your emergency?”

* * *

Steve was in the zone, working at a steady pace, growing closer to completing the job. He was so involved that he didn’t hear the door open. The hand on his shoulder made him jump back. The only other person that had been able to do that was Y/N, but she wasn’t the one that greeted him.

“I don’t know how to…” Natasha rasped, her eyes wide and a phone clutched in her hands. “There’s been an accident.”

His heart stopped painfully before it dropped in his chest, his blood ran cold, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood. “What?”

Nat was blinking rapidly, trying to keep the tears from breaking free. “Y/N and Grace… they’re… they’re at the hospital and -”

Steve didn’t want for her to finish; he had his keys in his hand and was running full speed to his truck. Pebbles flew through the air as he shifted the truck in reverse and tore down the drive.

* * *

_Grace was laughing, the rich kind that meant she was truly enjoying herself. The radio was blaring, some song from your childhood that brought an onslaught of memories, namely of you and Nat dancing around your room, young and innocent. You were singing at the top of your lungs, glancing at Grace every so often, falling in love with the sparkle in her eyes, the pitch of her laugh, the way she gripped her stomach when she laughed even harder than either of you thought possible._

_It was the final chorus, the best part of the song, and only took your eyes off the road for a second, but it was a second too long. Grace’s eyes went wide and she was pointing, saying something you couldn’t hear over the song._

_Time seemed to stand still as you turned back, watching as a small gathering of deer strolled across the road. You acted solely on instinct. Gritting your teeth, you slammed on the brakes, sending a shrill scream of rubber on concrete into the air. With white knuckles, you wrenched on the steering wheel at the last second, catapulting the driver’s side into three deer. It was also those three deer that ended up flipping the car over._

* * *

“Have you had any alcohol today?” Officer Maximoff asked, her voice thickly accented.

You would have shook your head, but the concussion already made you want to throw up. “No, nothing. Can you tell me how Grace is?”

The only medical personnel you had seen over the past two hours was Doctor Bruce Banner and his nurse, Betty Ross. Your anxiety and fear was off the charts, but he had been extremely patient with you, helping you focus on your breathing, on what your pain levels were. You had been x-rayed and cat scanned until you were sure your body was chock full of radiation. But during that time, not one word was said about Grace.

She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any of that information.

Swallowing the large knot in your throat, you shifted in your seat. “How much more do you need to know?”

“We will need to conduct a sobriety test; a blood draw, with your consent of course.”

“Absolutely,” you quickly agreed.

She was scribbling on her notepad. “Once the results are in, you will be free to go.”

Nurse Ross was at your side a moment later, clipboard and pen in her hand. “You need to sign this, sweetie,” she urged gently, which you were thankful for.

Your nerves were raw and every sound was like a railroad spike to your temple, spreading along the base of your skull, reaching across your brain like fingers, pushing behind your eyes. You had almost cried in appreciation when Doctor Banner had dimmed the lights.

After scribbling your name on the form, Betty washed her hands, slipped on a pair of purple latex gloves, and prepped your arm; tying a strap above your elbow, smiling when a vein rose to the surface.

She was about to push the needle into your vein when you asked, “Can you tell me anything about Grace?”

“You know I can’t,” Betty answered, dark eyes on the task at hand.

You hissed as the needle pierced your skin, and again when the strap on your arm was released. “I just want to know if she’s okay, that’s all. She’s… she’s my boyfriend’s daughter.”

With a shake of her head, she watched your blood spill into the vial. When she was satisfied with the amount, she dislodged the vial, covered the pierced skin with a cotton ball, pulled the needle out, and instructed you to hold the cotton in place and bend your elbow.

“It shouldn’t take long,” Betty mused, affixing a label with your information onto the vial. “Maybe an hour.” Without giving you a chance to ask about Grace again, Betty disappeared.

You were completely alone, well, not completely; Officer Maximoff was standing outside your door, ready and willing to throw you to the ground should you try to escape. Not that you would, or could. While the pain medication had started to do its job, pain continued to radiate through you, making even the smallest movements almost impossible.

With a heaving sigh, you eased down until your back was flat against the examining table. It wasn’t anywhere near as comfortable as your bed at home, but after crashing your car, it was pretty damn close. After closing your eyes, you draped your hand over them, pushing out the last bit of the fluorescent lighting. You were asleep in a matter of seconds.

* * *

“As you are neither a family member or the patient’s husband,” the nurse behind the desk continued to refuse to give out any information about Y/N, and it was really getting on Steve’s nerves. “I’m not at liberty to divulge that information.”

With his hands gripping the edge of the desk, Steve’s head dropped forward. “Please, she’s my girlfriend,” he begged. “I just want to know if she’s alright.”

She looked at him, eyebrow arched, the rest of her face stoic. “I cannot, and I will not.”

There were tears falling from his lashes, landing on the stained linoleum flooring. “You don’t understand,” he murmured, emotion choking him. “I’m… I’m in love with her.” Knowing he was not going to get an answer, he stood and, avoiding eye contact with the nurse, turned to walk down the hall toward the waiting room.

It was Y/N’s voice that made him stop.

He spun toward the sound of her voice and watched as she rounded the corner, a police officer by her side. They were both smiling. While the officer’s looked genuine, Y/N’s seemed more forced. She was limping and there was blood in her hair, her clothes were dirty and askew, and the urge to wrap her in his arms was overwhelming.

Steve choked on her name as his feet moved on their own accord. When she saw him, she started crying and ran down the hall.

* * *

Someone was shaking you, saying your name urgently. You groaned at the intrusion, wanting nothing more than to lay there and sleep, but they were persistent. Your lids were forced open and then there was a bright light, forcing you awake.

“There you are,” Doctor Banner said. He slipped an arm under your shoulders and helped you sit up.

Betty was handing you two tablets of extra strength Tylenol and a glass of water. “Slowly,” she said.

The pills were chalky and drug down your throat. Even as you drank more water, they seemed to cement themselves to the tissue, making you cough. With a freshly refilled glass, you were able to force the pills all the way down.

“The results came back,” Banner said once you were done drinking.

Officer Maximoff, who had been standing behind him, stepped to the side so you could see her when she talked to you. “You’re all clear to go.”

“That’s it?” you rasped.

“Just about,” Banner answered. “We called in a prescription, Vicodin for the pain. Take one with water every four to six hours…” he droned on about the directions and when he wanted to see you next. It was a good thing Betty was there, she had everything he was saying on paper, handing it to you after the doctor helped you off the seat.

Wanda, Officer Maximoff’s first name, stayed behind after the doctor and his nurse left. “I can help, yes?”

You let out a huff of an appreciative laugh. “I’d like that, thank you.” She grabbed the plastic bag that held your belongings and walked next to you, slowing her stride so you didn’t feel forced to keep up.

While the two of you walked down a maze of tunnels, Wanda talked, mostly to draw the attention away from the pain, keep your mind off of the accident. She was sweet to try, but all you wanted to do was find someone who could tell you about Grace. Hopefully that person was Steve. At the mere thought of Steve, your heart dropped. What was going through his mind? Was he mad at you for crashing the car? Did he blame you for hurting his child?

You forced a smile as Wanda talked about her twin brother, he was a cop, too. Rounding a corner, Steve’s broken voice made its way to your ears. He didn’t look mad, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t. Steve was racing toward you in the blink of an eye.

Choking on a sob, you started running to him. It hurt like hell, but you had a prescription for that. Steve’s arms were around you and your feet were off the floor. You latched onto him, scared and happy at the same time. Crying into his neck, you murmured an apology repeatedly while he was thanking God that you were alright.

With your feet on the floor, Steve pushed the hair from your face and kissed you sweetly. “You have no idea how scared I was. They wouldn’t tell me anything about you.”

“I’m fine, just… sore,” you assured him. “I… I’m sorry, Steve. I sw- swear, I only took my eye- eyes off the road for a second.” You were rambling, tripping over your words, your tongue thick and uncooperative.

Steve’s lips were in your hair and on your forehead. “Doll, I don’t blame you, okay? This wasn’t your fault.”

“But… but I swerved,” you insisted, knowing that the accident might have been avoided if you had just hit the deer head on.

“You reacted like any normal person,” Steve assured you.

With heavy eyelids, you asked Steve the one question you both wanted to, and dreaded to ask. “How’s Grace?”

* * *

Steve held your hand as you stood in the hall, looking at his daughter through the glass.

“The doctor said surgery went well, just some internal bleeding.”

There were too many wires coming out of the top of her gown for your liking. She was only eight years old, she should be outside chasing fireflies, not in the hospital.

“Is she…” you couldn’t bring yourself to finish the question.

“I don’t know, Y/N,” Steve murmured, his hand tightening on yours. “There is a bit of swelling on her brain, not enough to warrant any further surgeries.”

It was like a punch to the gut, driving you back a step, stealing the air from your lungs. “I… I did that to her, Steve.”

Shaking his head, he wrapped you in his arms again. “Don’t do that to yourself. I sure as hell don’t blame you for any of this.” Deep down, you knew he was right. You had reacted as anyone else would have in that situation. He didn’t blame you, maybe you should stop blaming yourself.

Steve’s hands were on your face and he was kissing you, firmer than before. “I love you,” he breathed against your lips.

With your chin quivering, you said, “I love you, too.” You stayed there, wrapped in his arms, swaying, and watching Grace for a long stretch of time.

It wasn’t until Steve said your friend’s name that you even knew Nat was at the hospital. She ran over and wrapped you in her arms, squeezing you harder than you wanted her to.

“Are you good to take her home?” Steve asked, his fingers tangling with yours once more.

You were shaking your head, but the flash in Natasha’s eyes made you stop.

“You need to rest, Y/N,” Steve said, his tone strict, letting you know there was no room for argument.

Needless to say, they were both surprised when you agreed. As much as you wanted to stay at the hospital, you were exhausted. Steve promised to call if anything changed, kissing you once more before Natasha wrapped her arm around your shoulders and walked you out of the hospital.

* * *

You showered until the water ran cold. After you dried off, you stepped into a pair of panties and pulled on one of Steve’s shirt. It fell to your knees and smelled exactly like him, pulling a hum from your throat.

Natasha was in your bed, wearing her own pajamas and holding out her arms. She knew exactly what you needed right then; a good night sleep and a warm body. She didn’t say anything as you crawled in, the pills already having taken away most of the pain, leaving your brain swimming in fog.

After getting comfortable, Nat’s fingers threaded through your damp hair, scraping asking your scalp, carefully avoiding the cuts friend the accident. You fell asleep in Nat’s arms, wishing she were Steve.


	8. Falling Star

For six days, Steve waited at the hospital for his daughter to wake up. Y/N stayed with him most of the time, falling asleep on his shoulder when the painkillers kicked in, bringing him coffee from the shop down the block, saving them all from the brown colored water the cafeteria served, and bringing in meals from the diner where they had their date. If Y/N hadn’t been there, Steve knew he would have fallen apart.

Nights were probably the hardest. Steve insisted that Y/N go home, sleep in her own bed. “It’ll help with your recovery,” he insisted.

She had tried to argue, saying she was feeling much better, which, Steve could tell she was feeling better, but the last place she needed to spend every waking and sleeping minute was the hospital. Natasha would take Y/N home, making sure Y/N took her medicine and got a good night sleep. Her presence and help made it easier to send Y/N home, made Steve worry a little less.

It was probably purely selfish, but with Y/N at home, Steve could focus his energy on Grace. She hadn’t woken yet, but the doctors were saying it could happen any time now, that her vitals were staying strong, that she was a fighter. Of course she was, she had been raised without a mother, by a man that was mourning the loss of his wife, the woman he loved with every fiber of his being. Steve wasn’t going to win a father of the year award or anything, but he had done his best, put his heart and soul into raising Grace into - hopefully - a strong and independant woman.

On the seventh night, Y/N convinced him to go home with her. “You need some real sleep, Steve,” she sighed, one hand on his face, the other over his heart.

She wasn’t lying; Steve felt like a dead man walking. Hell, he had fallen asleep standing up a handful of hours ago. He would have toppled over if he hadn’t been standing in the corner, walls on both sides of him. Deep down, Steve knew nothing would happen to Grace while he was gone, but it took a great deal more pleading from Y/N.

“You can barely function,” she pushed, eyebrows pulled together. “And you won’t do her any good if you pass out from exhaustion before she wakes up.”

Natasha stayed with Grace that night.

* * *

The stars were still out when Steve woke. He might have been exhausted and had fallen asleep right when his head hit the pillow, but that didn’t stop him from worrying about his daughter. He had been outside, barefooted, wearing sweats and a t-shirt for an unknown amount of time when Y/N came up beside him. She snuggled her way into his side, sighing contentedly when his arm lay heavy on her shoulders.

“You okay?” she asked, sleep thick on her tongue.

Steve hummed in response, his eyes skyward, watching the stars as they twinkled against the obsidian backdrop. “Grace loves space,” he breathed, emotion catching in his throat. “She’s always looking at the NASA site, seeing if any new pictures have been uploaded.”

“Really?” There was a small gasp at the end of her question, almost like she was surprised. “I got a friend that works there, James Rhodes. I could give him a call, see if he can show Grace around.”

“She’d like that,” Steve muttered, unblinking eyes staring, taking in all he could.

They stood there for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, watching as the darkness began to give way to lighter colors; sapphire and denim, swirls of eggplant. That’s when Y/N gasped and pointed, pulling Steve from his trance.

“Make a wish,” she said enthusiastically, closing her eyes, making her own wish.

He screwed his eyes closed and made the same wish he’d said a thousand times before.  _I wish Grace would wake up._

* * *

There was a flurry of activity when you and Steve turned down the hall to Grace’s room. Neither of you had to ask what was happening, because deep down, you already knew: Grace was awake. He grabbed your hand and squeezed, pulling you with him, forcing his way through the handful of hospital staff that were checking her vitals, laughing at her jokes - God, she could tell a joke even if she were on the downward slope of life.

“Daddy,” Grace squealed, pushing away the hands that were wrapping around her arm, adjusting the blood pressure cuff on her bicep.

You stood back, tears in your eyes, hand over your mouth, and watched as Steve covered his daughter and held her tight, his shoulders shaking, her hospital gown growing damp. When they parted, Steve wiped away the tears streaking down her face, and then she looked at you with wide eyes, held out her hand, and said your name.

The sob you had somehow managed to keep in your chest broke free, and you crossed the room in two long strides. Steve stood back as you wrapped Grace in your arms and kissed the top of her head.

Steve’s hand was on your shoulder when he said, “I guess wishes do come true.”


	9. Lazy Sunday

 

You and Grace were swimming, splashing water at each other, and laughing raucously. It was hard to believe that three months ago the little girl in front of you was in a coma, and now, she was roaring with laughter, head tossed back, the sun coloring her nose and cheeks, bringing out the freckles and lightening her hair.

“Can’t catch me,” she squealed, peals of laughter falling quiet as she dove under the water.

You moved quickly, giving chase to the trail of bubbles and the blurry image of Grace and her mermaid sequined swimsuit. You grabbed her foot and pulled, smirking when bubbles filled with screams rose to the surface.

She burst through the surface once you let go of her ankle, a wide smile on her face. “Cheater,” she proclaimed, shoving water towards you.

“That so?” you challenged, lunging toward her.

Another peal of laughter erupted from her as she struggled in your grip. You pushed off the ground and made sure she pulled in some air before you pulled her under the water with you. She was wriggling in your grip, but not in a scared way, she was having a good time, looking over at you, the lake distorting her vision, yours too. With a wink, you released her, and followed her to the surface, pulling in a deep breath as soon as you could.

Steve was standing at the edge of the dock, smiling wide. “You girls having a good time?” Instead of answering like a normal person, Grace shrieked her affirmative answer.

You were still laughing, loving the way it felt as it rolled off your tongue, washing over you like a waterfall. Part of it was the way Steve and Grace had made you feel, loved in every which way possible, like they needed you in their lives. Truth was, you needed them, you always had, you just didn’t know it until they stumbled into your life.

“Just put the last touches on,” Steve smiled down at you, standing back to give you ample room to draw yourself up on the dock. “You want to take her for a spin?”

Ten minutes later, the three of you were roaming the lake, the surf spraying up on the deck, splashing a life-jacket wearing Grace. You stood and walked along the deck, coming up to stand behind Steve. With your cheek against his back and your arms wrapped around his waist, he dropped a hand atop yours, and you could feel him chuckle.

Steve pulled your hand up to his lips, holding your hand there, tickling your knuckles with his moustache. “Thank you,” he murmured, the sound of his voice carried on the breeze.

You came around and pushed up to kiss him sweetly. “For what?”

“For being you,” he chuckled, eyes darting over to make sure Grace was still aboard. “You know… I don’t blame you for what happened.”

Before you even thought about it, your eyes screwed shut and you were shaking your head. You wanted to tell him that you didn’t know what he was talking about, but the truth was, you blamed yourself for the accident, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he blamed you, too.

Steve slowed the boat down, much to the dismay of Grace, but she was quickly distracted by several fish that had started jumping up, splashing down a split-second later. With you in his arms, he kissed your crown, your nose, then each corner of your mouth.

“I’ll say it a million, billion times,” he assured you. “I’ll say it until you believe me. It. Is. Not. Your. Fault.”

“I’m going to hold you to it,” you croaked, holding onto him as if he were your lifeline. And in a way, he was.

Grace came running around the corner, sliding on the water, stumbling slightly, but righting herself quickly. She rammed into the two of you, laughing loudly when you and Steve grunted. “Family hug,” she wailed, holding tight onto you and her father.

Steve had come into your life when you least expecting it, surprising you with just how much love someone could feel, could make the other person feel. Then there was Grace. She was smart as a whip, sassy, and funny as hell. Standing there on the boat, holding both Steve and Grace, was when you realized this was how you wanted to spend the rest of your life, with Steve and Gracie by your side.


End file.
